


dolokhov weeps.

by onetrueobligation



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 12:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18571954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: dolokhov doesn't cry very often. and when he does, it's usually anatole's fault.





	dolokhov weeps.

Dolokhov weeps.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried. It’s been years, at least. If asked, he’d probably claim to never have shed a tear since the day he came out of the womb, but that isn’t true. At least, it isn’t anymore.

Here he is, slumped over a bottle with his head in his hands, tears sliding down his cheeks. This isn’t him. This isn’t Fyodor Dolokhov, brave assassin. This is a coward. This is a man who’s terrified of what he feels.

And it all comes down to that bastard Anatole Kuragin.

Handsome, charming Anatole. The boy Dolokhov fell for without even realising until it was too late. The boy who can turn Dolokhov’s legs to jelly with a single smile. Dolokhov grits his teeth, the very thought of him only making him angrier with himself. He’s killed men, damn it. All of Russian society knows his name, and fears it, at that. And yet he’s met his match with that gorgeous son of a bitch who’s too charming for his own good.

Dolokhov weeps, because he is a coward, and he knows he can never say what he wants to Anatole.

 

 

 

Dolokhov weeps.

The door is closed and the rest of the household is asleep. A bottle of vodka is clutched in one of his hands, while he hides his face with the other. He very rarely succumbs to his emotions like this, but today, he can’t help it.

Once again, his tears come down to Anatole Kuragin.

Today, he could have lost Anatole for good. Today, he very nearly went through with a plan that would have let Anatole run off to Poland with a girl he hardly knew and leave Dolokhov behind forever.

Dolokhov hasn’t let himself think about just how much that would break him until now.

His tears are from both distress and relief. Anatole hasn’t left. Anatole is still in Russia, with his feathers considerably ruffled ( _and serves him right, too,_ Dolokhov thinks) but otherwise unscathed. What if this scheme had continued the way it was supposed to? What if Anatole had left without ever hearing what Dolokhov has to say?

Dolokhov weeps, because he knows he can’t go his entire life without saying what he wants to Anatole.

 

 

 

Dolokhov weeps.

Again, he’s considerably drunk, although that has little to do with _why_ he’s weeping. For once, he finds little shame in the thought. For once, there’s a smile on his face, a laugh in the back of his throat, a sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there before.

As always, once again, it’s Anatole Kuragin’s fault.

But here, in a darkened corner of the club, pressed up against Anatole’s chest until there’s almost no space between them at all, with Anatole pressing open-mouthed kisses down his throat and Dolokhov tangling one hand in his hair, it’s very difficult _not_ to be moved to tears.

Somehow, incredibly, Anatole wants what Dolokhov wants. Gorgeous, beautiful, idiotic Anatole is right there kissing him, and Dolokhov thinks he might die on the spot. He turns his face away so Anatole can’t see his tears – after all, he is still the same old Anatole, and Dolokhov has no desire to give him something to tease him about later – and sighs, letting out a delighted laugh. Perhaps there was never any reason to weep at all.

 

 


End file.
